Grave Letter
by Hannah Taylor1
Summary: Brennan's letter to Booth, and his reaction. Vignette #2 in my series of reimagined Aliens in a Spaceship scenarios. Reviews are much appreciated! :
1. Chapter 1

**Grave Letter**

A/N: I got to wondering about the letter Bones wrote while trapped underground with Hodgins. I heard spoilers that we'll be hearing about it in one of the next episodes to air. But, in the meantime, here's my version of events.

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, although I really, really, _really _wish Booth was!

***

"Where's your letter, Bones?"

"Excuse me?" Brennan glanced up from the microscope at her partner.

"Hodgins wrote a letter to Angela when he was buried alive with you. Where's your letter?"

She rolled her eyes and dropped her eyes to the scope again. "I didn't feel it necessary to leave a last will and testament. Those documents are already in order and have been for as long as we've been partners. It was one of the requisites from the FBI."

"You're lying." Booth's voice was accusing.

"Fine," she muttered, not looking up a second time. "I did write a letter, but I threw it away as soon as we were rescued."

"Still lying, Bones …Who'd you write to?"

"It's none of your business," Brennan informed him in exasperation. "Now will you please stop interrupting so that I can finish this analysis?"

She was surprised when he didn't argue and did as she asked.


	2. Chapter 2

"If I do what you're asking and Brennan finds out, she'll make sure I die a much slower, more painful death than the Grave Digger ever envisioned for us. Do you really want that on your head?"

Booth drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently. "Who are you more afraid of, Hodgins? Bones or me?"

Hodgins sighed. "That's definitely a trick question." He pulled a battered novel from a bookshelf and held it out. "Here."

"I've already read that. It's Bones' last novel. What does that have to do with the letter?"

"Man," Hodgins said in exasperation, "Just take the damn book. It has all the answers you're looking for." He shook his head as Booth continued to hesitate. "I don't know why I even kept it. I guess I figured one day you'd put two and two together and would want evidence."

As Booth finally took the book from him, Hodgins continued hastily, "I only read the first paragraph. I swear."

The FBI agent gave him a baffled, dirty look before stalking away.


	3. Chapter 3

Booth settled down at the diner with a cup of coffee and a piece of rhubard pie before beginning to thumb through the book.

The answer to Hodgins' riddle became apparent almost immediately. Bones had written her letter in green ink on all the available blank spaces of her novel. The letter started on the inside of the front cover, continued across the flyleaf and dedication pages, bled over multiple chapters, and ended at the epilogue.

The coffee went cold and the pie crust turned soggy long before Booth was done reading and re-reading the letter.

***

Dear Seeley,

I know you prefer that I not refer to you as such, but it seems appropriate just now. It's possible that you are not aware that your given name is an Old Germanic derivative meaning "blessed." (Somewhat ironically, "Sully" is also a derivative of the same Anglo-Saxon origin.) Given your religious inclinations, the name suits you well.

Jack Hodgins and I have been entombed by the Grave Digger in my car. As the Grave Digger is notorious for making people permanently 'disappear,' I have to face the fact that such a scenario may be exactly what befalls Hodgins and myself. We will do everything we can to prolong our air supply, and I know that you will eventually find us. Hodgins calls that knowledge 'faith', but I am simply relying on previous experience. Indisputable statement of fact: You're the best at your job, much as I am the best at mine, and you never, ever quit. The question is not if you will find us, but whether you will find us in time.

Hodgins is presently unconscious. I had to surgically operate on him without anesthesia, in order to relieve the compartment syndrome symptoms he was displaying. I did the best I could, given the circumstances, but am still concerned for his well-being. His breathing is irregular and his features are extremely pale. He's a good man, whose bravery I had underestimated.

We still have oxygen, but I feel as though I am struggling to breathe. Even with Hodgins here, I feel alone. I wish you were with me and yet am very glad that you are not. Parker needs you more than the Jeffersonian needs me. You are truly a wonderful father, Booth. I'm sorry if I haven't told you that more often. Though I don't truly believe in luck, Parker is a very lucky, indeed 'blessed' little boy to have you as a role model.

Sitting here with very little to do while I wait for Hodgins to revive, I've been mentally reviewing the parameters of the Kent case. If Zack were here, I believe he would confirm that Ryan Kent's injuries are congruent with the hypothesis that he killed himself in order to buy his twin a little more time. Hodgins has pointed out that if he dies due to my crude surgery, my supply of oxygen will be slightly extended. I'm not interested in surviving that way. He's my friend. However, I must admit to wondering whether I should do something myself to help extend Hodgins' chances of surviving.

My biological family is incarcerated. They have no real need of my presence in their lives. Zack is becoming increasingly adept at his job and could certainly fill my shoes until a more experienced forensic anthropologist is hired. Angela would take my death hard, but she would lean on Jack and eventually move on. In truth, there are few people in the world who would mourn my loss. The dead rely more heavily on me than the living.

I'm not being morbid or self-pitying. It's simply a fact that the loss of my life would not have as great an impact as the loss of Jack's life. Strong woman though she is, Angela relies heavily upon him, as does Zack. With no designated successor as of yet, Hodgins' death would throw the Cantilever group into chaos, possibly causing the loss of thousands of jobs. Furthermore, there are no other forensic palynologists, entomologists or mineralogists in the field with Hodgins' unique set of skills. In the larger scheme of things, I'm more expendable than he is.

So if we come down to the last of our oxygen, I may consider alternatives in order to help Hodgins survive a little longer until you get to us. I know this does not hold with your Catholic sensibilities on suicide, and I apologize if my eventual actions cause you distress.

The darkness feels oppressively heavy, as though I can actually feel the earth pressing down upon us on all sides. I've never been claustrophobic or afraid of the dark. However, I suspect that if Hodgins and I manage to come out of this experience alive, night will no longer be the natural extension to day that it once was.

The sensation of a weight upon my chest is making it hard to focus on this letter. I'm sorry if the writing is disjointed or lacks eloquence.

You and I have spent a great deal of time together over the last few years. As a result, you know me better than anybody, including Russ and Dad. Still, there remain things to be said between us. Things I have been too afraid to say face to face and must now confront on paper.

You are an extraordinary man, Seeley Booth. It would take more paper than I have just now to list all your virtues, but I'd place compassion at the top of the list. You may not be well-versed in "squint-speak," but you're fluent in setting people at ease and making them feel as though you truly care about their needs (mine included.)

You are not, by nature, a patient man. You are perpetually inclined to action and movement, whether it's on the job or at sporting events. Long silences make you squirm (rather endearingly) like a little boy. It makes me wonder how you can sit through all those hours of being lectured at in church. And yet, you are patient with each of the victims you meet. Each person who encounters you feels as though you are genuinely interested in the mundane minutiae of their everyday lives.

Even with criminals you are patient, until such a point as they have revealed what you need in order to solve a case. Then you go all alpha male … and that can be very impressive. You're patient with your employers, the bureaucrats you meet in your line of work, and even with insufferably science-minded squints.

You have been endlessly, compassionately, deeply patient with me and my lack of adept social skills. Thank you. That seems an appropriate direction to take this letter:


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you for always offering me a bite of pie, even though you knew I'd turn it down.

Thank you for that kiss under the mistletoe, so that Caroline would intervene on my father's behalf on Christmas Day.

Thank you for correcting my many misnomers without mocking.

Thank you for making me laugh daily.

Thank you for reading all my novels, even when the scientific jargon made them largely incomprehensible to you.

Thank you for insisting on broadening my horizons beyond the walls of the Jeffersonian.

Thank you for introducing me to Foreigner.

Thank you for insisting that I get up and sing.

Thank you for accepting my desire to become a mother without questioning my abilities.

Thank you for refusing to back down on so many occasions when I would have preferred not to have my scientific authority challenged.

Thank you for all those diner dinners.

Thank you for your steadfast faith. I may not understand it at all, but you believe as much as I don't, and that is somehow strangely comforting.

Thank you for the many times you've offered me physical comfort. I am so cold just now. I would like to have your arms around me.

Thank you for saving my life multiple times, even when I would have preferred to take a bullet than see you injured yet again.

Thank you for your honesty.

Thank you for my nickname—the only one I've ever received, and one that suits me better, perhaps, than my own given name.

Thank you for always being your brash, cocky self, even when it infuriated me.

Thank you for your courage and commitment to finding answers and truth, no matter the cost.

Thank you for seeing me as a person first and a scientist second.

Thank you for being my partner.

Thank you for being my friend.


	5. Chapter 5

There is an element of mutual possessiveness between us that I don't fully understand, Booth, given our platonic relationship. I suppose the impulse to protect each other at all costs is only natural to our partnership. And yet, I will admit an unexpected jealousy when contemplating the women you've dated. It seems that I don't like to imagine other women venturing into territory that is forbidden to me.

Physically, you are outstanding. On the rare instances I've seen you shirtless, I must admit that my biological impulses have been very hard to keep in check. I am attracted to your height, your well-defined musculature, the breadth of your shoulders, strong jaw and narrow waist. Every now and then I fantasize that I'm allowed to run my fingers through your hair.

Angela has a thing for your thighs, and they're certainly impressive, but in truth I'm more partial to your hands. Experience has proved them both strong and gentle. I confess that I've desired to feel your palms resting upon my bare skin, as much as I've harbored the fantasy of the two of us walking down the street with our fingers laced together.

A sexual relationship between us would certainly have been disastrous for our partnership. And yet—I have regrets. It was only a brief moment that we shared under the mistletoe, but sometimes I close my eyes and can almost still feel your kiss on my lips.

When I struggle with falling asleep at night, I occasionally replay your laughter in my mind and the look in your eyes whenever something strikes you as funny. You have a wonderful smile. I hope you one day find a woman who will give you many more reasons to smile and laugh. My own sense of humor is sorely lacking, but, whatever happens to Hodgins and me, Booth, you deserve happiness

_________________

The last thing to be said is perhaps the most important.

You are one of the most loving individuals I know. Laying your life on the line for strangers on a daily basis, going out of your way to be an excellent father for Parker, catching murderers in order to atone for the lives you legally took as a sniper—these are all examples of what surely must be a kind of love.

I'm going to try and wake Hodgins now, to see if the surgery did any good.

It's hard to know how to close this letter, not knowing what lies ahead in the near future, or if such a future even exists at all for me.

I don't understand love very well. But as far as I am capable of doing so, in my own limited fashion, I think I do love you, Booth. I'm sorry I never told you face-to-face.

~Bones

PS: Yes. The character in the novels is based on you.

***

Booth?"

Brennan had slipped into the coffee shop without his noticing. Her voice startled him so much that he almost spilled the coffee all over the book.

"What are you …" her voice trailed off as she saw what he was reading. "Is that …" She snatched at the novel just as Booth yanked it away.

"You had no right!" Brennan's voice trembled with fury.

"It has my name on it," Booth said rationally, although rational was the last thing he was feeling right now. He pointed to his name. "See? Dear Seeley. That would be me."

Brennan's eyes went cold with fear and anger. Booth could almost feel the gears in her mind turning as she locked away all the soft, vulnerable parts of herself that stood to get hurt.

"Bones—"

She turned away from him without another word.

Hastily, Booth threw down a $20 on the table and rushed after her.


	6. Chapter 6

The woman could speed walk, no question about it. She was already unlocking the door to her car when Booth caught up. He grabbed her arm.

"Come on, Bones. Don't run away."

"Let go of me."

He'd seen the last guy who manhandled her go down in a writhing puddle of pain. Still, Booth held on in spite of the dire risks to his physical wellbeing. "Not until we talk about that letter."

"There's nothing to talk about. The letter is an irrational construct comprised of fear, injuries and my concern for Hodgins. It means nothing."

"It means plenty," he retorted. "Why would you write something like that if you didn't want it read?"

Blue fire flashed a warning in her eyes. "You were only meant to read it if I didn't survive!"

She would break free in a moment, and then Booth was aware that he would be out a couple of vital organs, along with both testicles, kneecaps and probably some of his teeth. But, momentarily, he had the upper hand and he used the element of that surprise to pin her lower body against the car with his thighs, gripping her struggling arms at the elbow to immobilize them.

Her voice was so cold it was a miracle he didn't get frostbite. "I won't warn you again, Agent Booth. If you do not let me go, I will be forced to defend myself and you will find the results most unpleasant."

"Why, Bones?" Booth demanded. Anger began to simmer at a slow boil within him. "Huh? Why is it that you apparently have to _die_ before I get to find out what's going on inside that genius brain?"

As usual, she neatly sidestepped any questions that made her uncomfortable. "That letter was a personal document that you had no right to read without permission."

"Well, I did read it, and you know what? I'm not sorry. And you know something else?" He hadn't been sure what he would say, but the words formed without thought. "You are not expendable, Temperance Brennan."

She stopped struggling abruptly, clearly as surprised as he was by his words. It wasn't what he had expected to say to her, but as Booth rested his forehead against hers he realized suddenly that he was every bit as angry as she was.

"_I _rely on you, Bones." His tone darkened with emotion. "Dammit! _I _need your presence in my life. _I _would mourn your loss. _I _need you more than your damn skeletons do. Did you stop to think about that when you were contemplating suicide in the car?" He shook her shoulders forcefully, willing her to absorb his message physically.

"That's one of the reasons I didn't want you to read the letter. I knew you would react in this manner." Brennan was suddenly quiet, subdued. "But I didn't kill myself, Booth. I don't understand why you're so angry."

"You thought about it." His insides turned hollow with rage. "You thought about cashing it all in and leaving me!"

"It wasn't about you!" she insisted. "It was about giving Hodgins a chance at career recognition that is well merited, but which he has not yet received. It was about allowing him the possibility of marriage and children with Angela—things I believe they both very much desire—"

"The letter was addressed to me! Not Angela or Hodgins or your dad or Russ. Me, Bones. My name was on it. It was about—_is _about—me. You. Us!" He shook her again, somewhat surprised that she hadn't broken free yet and dismembered him. "Call in all the forensic anthropologists, entomologists, poly-whatever-the-hell-else-ologists you want to take over at the Jeffersonian, but there's no replacement for _my partner_!"


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: That's it for this story. Now I can move on to finish _Standards _and the next story in my _Grave Digger _series, among others. I worked hard on getting the voices right and on not going **ooc,** but would love feedback on any jarring notes that I might improve on, as well as anything else you did or did not like. Please R & R! :) :)

**Ch. 7**

Brennan frowned, obviously aware that Booth was upset, but unsure of what she had done to merit the chastisement. "I'm sorry if I unintentionally offended you with my words, Booth. As I said before, it meant noth—"

"Don't say that." Booth closed his eyes momentarily in despair. "Just don't. Don't say it, Bones. Let me pretend at least for a minute. Okay?"

"Pretend what?"

With an audible groan, Booth stepped away from her. "Never mind. Forget it. I'm the one who should be apologizing. I had no right to manhandle you like that." He waved a hand dismissively, trying hard to swallow the knot of frustration in his throat. "I'll call you later."

"Wait!" It was her turn to chase after him as he stalked off down the block. Even after she caught his arm and matched her step to his, he refused to turn his head and acknowledge her. There was too much danger that he would speak the unspeakable and frighten her away.

"I don't understand, Booth. Tell me what the problem is. We can talk it through. Isn't that we always do?" Her voice was close to pleading and he immediately felt guilty for expecting her to be anything other than who she was.

A small city park loomed in front of them and Booth dropped onto a wrought iron bench heavily. He tilted his head far back and closed his eyes. Brennan settled down a few inches away. Tenderness welled up within Booth at her clumsy attempt to give him space. He reached an arm out to her and she slid in close, settling naturally against his side as though she belonged there. Booth tugged at her waist, drawing her closer still, needing to feel her safe and whole beside him.

They sat quietly for a long while, his chin resting on her soft hair, her head on his chest. The moment was as peaceful as any they'd ever shared, until Brennan finally broke the silence.

"I know that I lack empathy, Booth." Her voice was deeper than normal—a sure sign she was nervous. "I lack your ability to read social cues and to forge connections with others through mutually understood nonverbal communication."

Booth stifled a smile at her unique, roundabout way of apologizing.

She lifted her head and fixed her clear, focused gaze on him. "But even I can tell how upset you are, and am aware that, somehow, my actions while buried underground are directly relevant to your current state of distress."

He sighed. "You just gotta understand, Bones—the thought of you in that car underground … it makes me crazy to think of how close I came to not getting there on time." His mouth turned to cotton with the memory of the fear he'd felt after getting the Grave Digger's message. Fear had progressed to panic as time ran out, followed by outright terror when they'd arrived at the quarry and hadn't immediately spotted any signs of the grave.

"But you found me," Brennan pointed out. "I knew you would."

Booth clenched his jaw, fighting back a wave of fresh memories. "But what if I hadn't, Bones?" He tried to break eye contact with her but failed miserably, and was left with only the prayer that she couldn't read the overriding emotion in his eyes. "What if I hadn't gotten the text? What if Zack hadn't decoded that message?"

"Wondering about what-might-have-been is an exercise in futility."

"No, it's an exercise in humanity," he countered. "When the woman you love is trapped underground and in danger of suffocating, it's only human to …" Booth's words trailed off as he realized what he'd inadvertently let slip. The emotion in his eyes had bypassed his brain and gone straight to his vocal chords.

Brennan pursed her lips, only just beginning to catch up to his revelation. Her genius brain was seemingly deliberately selective about the speeds at which it chose to process certain things.

"I assume a colloquial translation of your words would be **partner **in place of **woman **and **care for **in place of **love—**"

"No, Bones." Booth shook his head, cutting her off firmly. He'd waited for so many years to tell her. It seemed somehow appropriate that the words had chosen the moment for him. "This goes a whole lot deeper than caring about a work partner."

Fear filtered back into Brennan's eyes and, for the second time that day, Booth could almost see the gears in her mind whirring away. As a former "degenerate gambler" he knew that once the chips were on the table, the only thing to do was to risk it all and win enough to play another night, or count his losses and walk away in shame. Right now the cards were most definitely all in play and he had no intention of folding.

"Some of the things that you said in that letter …" Booth caught her hand in his own and raised it to his cheek. "Bones, you've gotta know, _you _make me happy."

Turning his head slightly but never breaking eye contact, he pressed his lips to the center of her palm. "I love your weird sense of humor, even if half the time it's wrapped up in so much scientific stuff that you have to translate it for me before I get the joke." He teased her gently, trying unsuccessfully to draw a response out of her. "_You_ make me laugh. _You_ make me smile."

He could feel the automatic impulse to recoil unfolding within her. Reaching out, he caught her free hand and laced his fingers through hers, refusing to let her pull away. "_You_ make the job worth the patience it takes to handle all the red tape and bureaucratic shit that comes with the territory."

"Booth—"

"I love you, Bones." Again, Booth interrupted, unable to stop the words now that they'd started. "When I kissed those other women that your letter said you were jealous of, I closed my eyes and all I ever saw was you. After Parker, you're the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about before going to bed."

She didn't interrupt this time when he paused, only sat there gazing up at him, her clear blue eyes wide with a mixture of emotions.

"Physically, you're outstanding," Booth continued. "I've never seen you shirtless, but I'd sure as hell like to."

Brennan chuckled abruptly at his deliberate corruption of her words. The unusually happy, carefree sound sent sparks of heat through Booth. He wanted more of that laughter.

He glanced meaningfully at her form-fitting, scoop-necked cobalt top. "I must admit that my 'biological impulses' have been _very hard_ to keep in check when you wear those low-cut blouses."

More laughter. Almost giddy sounding. He could easily get drunk on the sound of her happiness.

Booth continued quoting from her letter, as though the words had seared themselves into his brain. "I am attracted to your height, your well-defined musculature and narrow waist."

She rolled her eyes slightly.

"Every now and then I fantasize that I'm allowed to run my fingers through your hair." Watching her for signs of a reaction, he drew his fingers through the heavy fall of curls at the nape of her neck. "You are so beautiful, Bones." His blood turned thick and heavy with desire as the silken strands drifted through his fingers. "I've dreamed about having your palms resting on my bare skin, as much as I've harbored the fantasy of the two of us walking down the street holding hands."

His voice dropped an octave. "I can still taste your kiss, Bones. It's even better than that magic macaroni."

She punched his shoulder lightly and dropped her head. "Booth …I'll admit the chemistry between us was quite definitive. But what if –"

He tipped her chin up with two fingers. "You know, Bones, I'm friends with this really, really smart squint. A genius, actually, who, kind of annoyingly, very rarely ever makes mistakes and likes to rub her intelligence in my face." He hid another smile at the annoyance on Brennan's face as she realized where this conversation was headed. "If she's so smart, then you'd think her advice is probably worth following, right? And this genius recently told me that what if's are an exercise in facility."

"Futility," she corrected automatically. "And stop using my words against me."

"No, facility," Booth retorted. "The word means easy, right?"

"In a manner of speaking—"

"So what-if's are an easy exercise in escaping, Bones. You want an easy out to this relationship because you're afraid, and I'm not going to give you one."

"That's a deliberate misinterpretation of—"

"When I struggle with falling asleep at night," Booth cut in, dead serious now, "I replay your laughter in my mind and the look in your eyes whenever something strikes you as funny. You have a wonderful smile, Bones. You deserve happiness."

"How did you memorize my letter so quickly?" She sidestepped the issue. "In my experience, your near-perfect photographic recall of facts has generally been limited to sports statistics and song lyrics."

"Hey, hey, don't knock my rote memory! Sports statistics and song lyrics can be every bit as complicated as your chemical formulas! And I guess I remember your letter because those aren't just your words, Bones. They're mine. You wrote down exactly what I've been wanting to say to you since the day we first met."

"Yet again, you're exaggerating. It's not possible that—"

"Go on. Test my memory," he challenged. "I may not have your 'photographic recall', but I'll win this contest handily. I remember what you were wearing. Your perfume. The first words you ever said to me. Even the look on your face when you first got annoyed at me for wanting to have a conversation that wasn't squinty."

He waited for her to take him up on the wager, but got only aggrieved silence and downcast eyes in return. She was closing in on herself, sealing off the walls to the Brennan fortress. But she hadn't stomped away yet, so he still had a fighting chance.

"Bones, you trusted me to find you 6 feet underground in the middle of nowhere by following some tire tracks, dirt samples and a puddle of blood. Trust me now, when there's a whole lot more evidence pointing toward the treasure chest. We're good together. Five years should be more than enough empirical proof of how good we are."

"I do trust you," she protested. "You've repeatedly proved your ability to open yourself to others and become a reliable presence in people's lives. It's my own capacity to love that I doubt. "

"Bones," he said as patiently as he could, "You thought about taking your own life to give Hodgins extra time. Right?"

"Yes, but—"

"Would you have done the same thing for Angela? Zack?"

"Hypothetically, had we been in a similar situation as Hodgins and I were, yes. Both of their potentials may eventually exceed even my accomplishments. It wouldn't be right to truncate their chances of survival simply because I'm in the same vehicle and have already achieved worldwide recognition both for my forensic and writing abilities. Anthropologically-speaking, the next generation holds more value than the previous, so it only follows that—"

"What about me, Bones? Would you save me?"

"As I stated in the letter, your son requires a strong male role model. I would not deprive him of that need."

It wasn't the answer he wanted, but he kept pressing. "What about your brother and father, Bones? Would you have done the same for them?"

A cloud settled over her face. "They're incarcerated. They have little to offer society."

"Your brother and your dad, Bones," he repeated, leaning closer and watching her back away unconsciously. "All three of you are buried underground together in a car that's rapidly running out of oxygen. You take your own life, they have a chance at just a little bit longer to be rescued. Would you do for them for what you would have done for Hodgins?"

Still, she reached for logic to underscore her arguments. "Russ' adoptive children lack a concrete father figure in their lives, thanks to his poor choices. My father's age makes the likelihood of his contributing anything outstanding to society a poor prospect, even if he's ever released from prison."

It was a cruel game he was playing with her, but he needed her to break free of her scientific reasonings and understand where her impulse to save Hodgins' life had really come from.

"Rescuers are 15 minutes away. Your dad and Russ are almost gone, Bones. Yeah, maybe they'll go straight back to prison, but if they just had that little bit of extra air, they might make it. Would you save their lives by giving your own?"

The color had drained from her face as she warred with her inner squint. "I don't understand how this line of conversation is relevant to our previous discussion."

"Make a decision, Bones," he snapped, slapping the metal bench with his open palm. "They're dying. Yes or no? Do you save them?"

"Yes." Confusion was written across her lovely face. "There's no logical argument for such a decision, but I would."

"You would," Booth said softly. A lone tear slid down her cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb. "I've always known you would, Bones. The letter only confirmed it."

"But you were angry at me because of what I wrote in the letter! It clearly contravened your religious beliefs," Brennan objected. "You believe that, had I taken my own life, I would have been condemned to an afterlife of perpetual immolation."

"I was angry because the thought of not having you here with me makes me physically sick," he said bluntly. "There's never an excuse to commit suicide, but the thought of your bleeding out in that car, all alone, just because you thought that Hodgins' life was apparently worth more than your own—" Booth shuddered, unable to complete the thought as the image of a bleeding, dying Bones filled his mind.

She took his hand uncertainly, aware again that he was upset, but unsure how to remedy the situation.

He squeezed her hand tightly in return, silently thanking God for her life. "You just said that you'd save Russ and Max, even though they're not doing much good for the world behind bars. It's not because of some twisted scientific ideal of what they might offer to future generations. You would lay down your life for your family and friends because you love them, Bones."

Silence hovered between them for uncounted moments, while Booth's heart thudded in his ears.

"Your argument is well-reasoned," she finally admitted, glaring at the back of his hand as thought it could somehow help unravel the confusion in her brain.

"Damn straight it is!" He had to restrain himself from punching the air exultantly. "I won that argument hands down, Bones. Admit it. That genius brain is nowhere near as big as your heart. "

"Booth, the physical size of a human heart has nothing to do with the amount of empathy a person can apport."

He sighed. "The point is, Bones, if your capacity to love is the only thing stopping us …" he trailed off, praying for her to pick up where he left off.

Her grip on his hand tightened and she still refused to look up at him. "Perhaps I am capable of loving you…"

Every nerve in Booth's body went **zing**.

"Though not in the same manner as you love me."

"More than partners, Bones?" He knew how desperate his words sounded and didn't give a damn. "More than just friends?"

Her answers was a long time coming. Finally, she spoke quietly. "I believe so. Yes."

Birds in a tree nearby exploded in song, probably because of some nearby predator, but to Booth it was an entirely heavenly chorus of Handel's Messiah, all wrapped up in his partner's softly-spoken, carefully-phrased words.

He nudged her chin up again, so he could see her beautiful tear-filled eyes, and smiled so wide his face hurt. "Then your manner is exactly right for me, Bones."

She smiled back, just a little shyly, and Booth had to chuckle at how uncertain they both were of how to take the next step into a moment that had been so long in coming.

"I'm a little out of practice at declarations of love," he acknowledged ruefully, "But I think this is the part where I kiss you."

Brennan leaned into him, bracing her palms on his chest. Her eyes drifted shut but she made no other move, clearly waiting, unwilling to go forward without him. Bold and uninhibited as she proclaimed herself to be, she was still afraid, still holding back, and Booth had no intention of pushing her any farther than they'd already come today.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, cupped the back of her neck and drew her forward until their mouths were millimeters apart. When she didn't pull back, he lowered his head that last fraction of an inch and kissed her slowly—very, very slowly, in spite of the explosions going off in the most primal part of his brain, in spite of her sliding onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissing him back so trustingly that he felt his heart turn over in his chest. He'd envisioned the moment 1000 different times, 1000 different ways, but the tenderness between them was unimaginable.

He whispered the words as the kiss deepened gradually between them. ""I love you, Bones." Her lips parted, drawing him in. "Always have." He explored the inner recesses of her mouth, drawing back occasionally to look into her cerulean eyes, now half-lidded with desire and gazing into his. "Always will." Her soft, contented sigh was absorbed into his very being. "Forever."

"Oh. My. God."

Still enveloped in Booth's arms, Brennan broke the kiss reluctantly and looked over at her best friend, who had apparently chosen the exact right moment to take her new puppy for a walk in the park. Angela looked like she'd just been handed Christmas, New Year's and an all-expenses paid trip to Paris wrapped up in one.

The artist bounced with elation. "It's about time!" The Yorkshire Terrier mix at her feet added his excited yaps to her squeals. "Finally you two have come to your senses!"

Booth sighed, not at all happy at the rude interruption, or at having their brand-new relationship outed so quickly. He looked at Brennan, wondering what her reaction would be. It wouldn't have surprised him if she'd immediately retreated back into a scientific shell, spouting jargon about biological needs and adrenaline glands or some such nonsense.

He discovered with a shock that his partner was grinning at Angela. Grinning and blushing. Definitely blushing, endearingly, like a teenage schoolgirl.

Angela bounced and squealed some more, setting off another round of frantic yaps from her puppy. "Sweetie, I'm so happy for you!"

Brennan sneaked a peek at Booth before burying her head in his neck and giggling. The vibrations of her laughter sent tendrils of warmth through his chest. He wrapped his arms around her more tightly and glared mildly at Ange.

"Kinda busy here, Montenegro …"

She backed away. "I'm interrupting. I'll leave you two alone."

Booth waited as she dawdled delightedly away, stopping occasionally glance over her shoulder and beam like a Cheshire Cat. When she was halfway across the park, he looked down once more. His partner's reaction had been so unexpected, he wasn't sure what to say. He still harbored the fear that she'd change her mind and shut down on him. This time, however, he had no intention of standing outside patiently, waiting for her to open the gates. He'd storm her damn emotional fortress, if that's what it took to keep her with him.

"Bones?"

She glanced sideways up at him and Booth's heart lurched. Her hair was mussed from their makeout session, her lips swollen from long, lingering kisses. All insanely arousing, but not nearly as hot as the laughter in her beautiful eyes and the awareness that no gate-crashing would be necessary today.

"You do realize that the entire museum will know about us in the next twenty minutes, Booth."

Hearing her refer to them as an _us _was enough to make Booth want to dance up and down like Angela.

"And you're okay with everybody knowing?"

"Yes." She smiled at his astonished reaction and trailed her fingers across his chest, lingering over his pounding heart. "I'm fairly certain that Angela is watching us from a discreet distance, Booth. Perhaps we should give her a little more firewood for the fuel …"

Booth didn't correct her mixed-up idiom. He was far too busy responding to her oh-so-unmixed-up kiss.


End file.
